


Cinderodham

by TheAnnoyingAlien



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fairy Tale Parody, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2020-09-18 23:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20321341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAnnoyingAlien/pseuds/TheAnnoyingAlien
Summary: A ridiculous Cinderella AU that nobody asked for but that I wrote anyways. The kingdom of America is entering its next coronation cycle and is about to select its newest king or queen. Noblewoman Cinderodham thinks she's got what it takes to win the crown, but her wicked stepfather, meddlesome stepbrothers, and a sinister cat are out to thwart her chances at every turn and keep her a prisoner in her own home. Some mice, some magic, and an encounter with the forty-second king just might be enough to help her break free.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started working on the concept for this a long time ago but am only just now starting to finish it. I have a busy life outside of writing cursed crack fanfiction bullshit and have been struggling with some mental health stuff too but I’m doing pretty okay now and I found some motivation to write again so here we are, here's some more ridiculous shit that I managed to create. This came into being because I thought it’d be a fun challenge to try and rework a fairy tale into a goofy story. I'm basing the story very heavily off of the Disney version of Cinderella (the original animated one not the live action reboot), but I did change several details in order to make it not just a complete rehashing of the film, modernize things a bit, and make the story flow a little better. It takes place in modern times so technology such as cellphones, Twitter, microphones, etc. exists and everyone dresses in contemporary clothing, but instead of a country with a presidency and congress America is a kingdom and governed by a king/queen and their court. I'll go into more details about how this works as the story progresses but basically even though there's a king/queen and a court instead of a president and congress the king/queen and members of the court are still elected by the kingdom subjects so it's basically a president and congress in everything but name. Anyways, I hope this goofy story amuses you because I find it pretty amusing to write. Might take a while for me to finish writing this and I'm making up a lot as I go but we'll get there eventually and just see how it turns out. Enjoy.

Once upon a time there was a kingdom called America, a vast land with wintery norths surrounded by oceans and lakes, prosperous plains and massive mountains in its middle, lovely coasts on the east and west, and souths that ranged from dry and desert-like to almost tropical. The kingdom was divided into fifty provinces, and in one of these provinces, New York, there was a stately tower, in the penthouse of which lived a widowed noblewoman and her young daughter, Cinderodham. Although she was a kind and devoted mother and did her best to give her daughter the most exceptional education and comforts, there eventually came a point where they found themselves destitute and facing the possibility of losing their home. Cinderodham’s mother had been a high ranking noblewoman from a wealthy family, but when she married her commoner merchant husband she had consequently been cut off from her family’s fortunes. Though she and her husband had made good money through his merchant business it faltered following his death and she was unable to maintain it on her own. Ostracized by her wealthy relatives and unable to provide for her daughter, there was only one option-it was time for her to marry again.

The noblewoman soon accepted the proposal of Lord Trumpmaine, a divorced nobleman from an opulent family of low ranking nobles. Following the wedding the lord moved into the penthouse with his new bride and stepdaughter, bringing with him his own two sons from his previous marriages. The elder son was named Sanderstasia, a bespectacled child with wild white hair, while the younger was called Cruzella, a stocky dark-haired youth. Although there was no love between them Trumpmaine possessed the finances the noblewoman needed, she provided him the boost in his title and status that he desired, and their arrangement initially seemed to be an agreeable, mutually beneficial one. Alas, that was not the case. Trumpmaine was narcissistic, cruel, and abusive to the noblewoman and her daughter. He treated his sons somewhat better, they never wanted for anything, but it was obvious that they too were not worth love and affection in the lord’s eyes. Trumpmaine put massive amounts of money towards their material comfort simply because he saw them as pawns he could use for his own selfish purposes, not out of any fatherly love for them. As domestic life with Trumpmaine deteriorated further and further the noblewoman realized that she had made a grave mistake in marrying him, that regardless of the financial stability he had brought his presence in their lives was causing more harm than good. She decided she would take Cinderodham and run, money be damned. Unfortunately, the noblewoman suddenly took ill and died before she could enact this plan, which forced Cinderodham, still a child and without any blood relatives willing to take her in, to remain stuck in her stepfather’s care.

As the years went by Trumpmaine lavished his sons with the best schooling and the best clothes, and he had helped them both to secure seats within the royal court. He didn’t spend a dime on Cinderodham, who worked hard to educate herself on her own, spending hours reading in the provincial library, sewing her own outfits, and eventually, after much effort, securing a position in the court as a minister of state. She enjoyed the job, loved travelling to different kingdoms and helping maintain good relations between them and America, and she was making a name for herself within the royal court. There was even chatter about her possibly becoming queen someday, something that Trumpmaine resented. Trumpmaine was not pleased with the influence Cinderodham’s job gave her, nor was he pleased with the opportunity it might provide for her to break free from his suffocating grasp and leave home. He gave her an ultimatum-give up the job of minister of state, or get kicked out of the house. Deciding that continuing to live with her horrid family and having a roof over her head was better than escaping her family but having to fend for herself on the streets, Cinderodham reluctantly left the court, becoming imprisoned in the gilded cage that was the penthouse. She felt as if she would be doomed to this life forever, but as the kingdom’s next coronation cycle drew closer, so did Cinderodham’s chance for freedom.

A lone mouse crept along the floor of the penthouse’s smallest bedroom, making its way over to the occupied twin-sized bed. The bedsheets, drab, thinned, and worn from years of use, had been pulled up as far as they would go, effectively concealing the bed’s occupant. The bedsheets hung off the bed close enough to the floor for the mouse to grab hold of a corner and tug, pulling the sheets further down the bed in an attempt to rouse the occupant. This effort revealed a face, a beautiful one framed by locks of golden blonde hair, but the owner of that face remained asleep. The mouse tugged the sheets down a bit further, and this did rouse their sleeping friend, although it was clear she did not yet want to leave the bed. She yawned and shifted slightly, burying her face in her pillow. A few more mice had gathered with the first now; a couple climbed their way up onto the bed and approached the sleeping beauty. They nudged at their friend’s hand with their noses, only for her to tuck her hand under the pillow. Suddenly, there was a loud pounding on her door, startling the mice. The woman lifted her head, grimacing at the noise.

“It’s too early for me to deal with these two right now…” She muttered.

“Cinderodham! You’d better be awake!” The grating, nasally voice of her youngest stepbrother came through the door.

“Father has your list of chores for the day!” The equally grating, loud voice of her older stepbrother added.

“I’m up! Assholes…” She called back, saying the last part under her breath so they wouldn’t hear her. “I’ll get right on it!” The sounds of footsteps could be heard as the two stepbrothers presumably trotted off. Cinderodham shook her head as she threw the covers off and got out of bed. She quickly went about her morning routine, humming a song slightly off key as she did so. She made the bed, with the mice assisting in tucking the corners of the sheets and fluffing the pillow. She ran a bath and washed up, and when she had finished and dried off she found her outfit for the day laid out by her mouse friends. It was a fairly plain ensemble-a pale blue blouse with a dull brown coat and slacks, sensible black flats, and a simple black headband for her hair. As she was finishing dressing she heard the pitter-patter of many mouse feet on the floor and frantic squeaking. Turning around, Cinderodham was met with the sight of several mice squeezing through the crack under the door and scampering towards her. Something had riled them up, but since they were all squeaking and crying over one another she couldn’t discern what the problem was.

“One at a time, everyone! One at a time!” Cinderodham urged them, attempting to calm them down. The mice quieted, and a solitary mouse stepped forward. Cinderodham knelt down so she was closer to the mouse’s level. This mouse was one of the older and wiser ones, a sort of leader to the rest. She had brown fur and warm brown eyes and was sporting an elegant burnt orange pantsuit that Cinderodham had sewn herself. “Nancy, what’s going on?” Cinderodham asked her.

“There’s a new mouse in the penthouse!” The mouse, Nancy, announced.

“A new mouse? Oh, that’s lovely!” Cinderodham beamed. “It’s been a while since we’ve had any new mice wander in. She’ll need a pantsuit, and a necklace…“ She reached over to rummage around in an empty cookie tin atop the dresser, which she had been using to store mouse-sized outfits and accessories that she had sewn herself.

“She’s a he, actually,” Nancy clarified, “And he’s in trouble! He’s caught in one of the traps Sanderstasia set and none of us can get him out!”  
“Will you show me where he is?” Cinderodham requested. “Don’t worry; I’ll be able to help him.” Nancy gave a nod and scurried off towards the door, squeezing back through the crack to get into the hall. Cinderodham grabbed a tiny blazer and tie from the cookie tin before throwing the door open and following behind Nancy. This was unfortunately a regular occurrence in their household, as her stepfather and stepbrothers absolutely despised mice and the three of them would continuously set up all sorts of terrible traps around the penthouse to take care of them if their wicked cat didn’t get to them first. Cinderodham, however, did not consider the mice to be vermin like her family did. To her, the mice were like family, the only family she felt she had, and her actual family members were the vermin. Ever since she was a young girl Cinderodham had had a great deal of affection for the mice she encountered. She would free them from the traps her family laid out, clothe them in the tiny suits she sewed, and provide them with food, and in return they gave her their companionship and did little favors for her to cheer her up when she was feeling down, trying their best to help make life in the Trumpmaine household a little more bearable for her.

Nancy finally stopped at the end of the hall, where another mouse stood guard in front of a cage trap. This mouse was a bit younger than Nancy, a bespectacled mouse with graying blonde fur and blue eyes who was dressed in a black and blue pantsuit. Cinderodham recognized her as Elizabeth, called Liz for short. She was one of the feistier mice, a fighter with a determined spirit, and when she set her mind to something she would persist until she saw it through. The latches and bars of the trap bore claw and teeth marks, which Cinderodham assumed were from Liz attempting to unsuccessfully free its prisoner. Having not noticed Cinderodham and Nancy yet Liz started to scratch and gnaw at the latch once more.

“I think I’ve almost got it this time!” She said to the trapped mouse, though it came out a bit muffled and garbled since she had said it in the midst of gnawing. “Just a little more…” Nancy decided to intervene before Liz hurt herself, scampering over to her and gently nudging her away from the latch.

“It’s okay, Cinderodham’s here now, you don’t have to wear your teeth down to the root trying to gnaw through that lock,” Nancy informed her, and then, peering between the slatted bars of the small cage, she offered the imprisoned mouse a reassuring smile. “You’ll be okay now; our friend will let you out!” The two mice stood aside as Cinderodham knelt down and undid the latches on the door of the cage.

“There you go,” She said softly, drawing the door open, “It’s open, you can come on out.” Hesitantly, the mouse emerged, and Cinderodham got a good look at him. He had gray fur and blue eyes, and he gazed up at her with a mixture of gratitude, admiration, and excitement.

“Oh, thank you all so much for saving me!” He thanked her. “I don’t know what I would have done without you!”

“You’re welcome! I’m glad you’re alright.” Cinderodham replied, “I’m Cinderodham, and I’m sorry you were trapped in there. My stepfather and my stepbrothers hate mice, but I don’t. Every mouse in this house is a friend of mine. This is for you, by the way.” She handed the mouse the little blazer and tie she’d brought, and he thanked her again and promptly slipped them on, admiring his reflection in the glossy tiled floor.

“I feel distinguished.” He chuckled.

“You’ll also need a name,” Cinderodham announced, “I’ve got one! What do you think of Timothy? We can call you Tim for short.”

“Tim… I like it!” The mouse, now known as Tim, decided. “It has a nice sound.”

“I’m afraid I have to leave now, Tim,” Cinderodham sighed sadly, “My stepfather and my stepbrothers will make things hell for me if I don’t get working soon. Nancy, Liz, why don’t you show Tim around? I’ll bring some breakfast up to my room for all of you once I get my chores underway.” Nancy and Liz both gave a nod as Cinderodham hurried off to begin her daily tasks. After introducing themselves to him Nancy and Liz started to lead Tim down the hall.

“You’ll like living here,” Nancy said to him as they trotted along, “It’s lovely. Well, aside from Mike, of course.”

“Who’s Mike?” Tim inquired.

“The family cat,” Liz clarified, “He spends most of his time at Lord Trumpmaine’s side, but when he’s left unattended he loves to terrorize the mice in the house.”

“Oh, well, I’ve met the cat already, unfortunately,” Tim sighed, “He’s got white fur and sinister eyes, right?”

“Yeah, that’s him!” Nancy confirmed. “White fur and sinister eyes.”

“He’s the reason I got caught in that trap,” Tim explained, “He spotted me and kept chasing me around until I ran in there and he couldn’t get to me, so he left. I got away unscathed, but he ran off with something important of mine that I need to get back as soon as possible!”

“Maybe we can help you go find it!” Liz offered. “It’s probably in Trumpmaine’s bedroom; Mike likes hiding all the stuff he takes in there.”

“We’ll need to come up with a plan first,” Nancy pointed out, “Come on, let’s go back to Cinderodham’s room and see if Liz and I can figure out how to help you.” Tim agreed, so the three of them scampered off to Cinderodham’s bedroom to begin plotting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy debate night y'all here's chapter two of this mess of a fic.

While the mice were concocting their plan Cinderodham had gotten started on her usual roster of chores for the day. Sanderstasia and Cruzella, being counts in the royal court, would need to be readied to depart for the next court session. Even though Cinderodham was a member of the nobility and held both the rank of Countess and title of Minister of State she would not be going with them, as she had stopped attending the court with her family ever since Trumpmaine had forced her to resign. She longed to go back, to have that same freedom again, that same ability to do some good for her kingdom, but instead she found herself pigeonholed into serving as a meager court page for her stepbrothers, tending to the menial tasks that Cruzella and Sanderstasia refused to do themselves. They had more than enough money to hire a staff to assist them, but they took great glee in making Cinderodham do their work instead. Every morning the two of them always left a large mountain of proposals they planned to make to the court for her to proofread and organize, but before she took care of that, everyone needed breakfast, and it fell upon her to prepare and deliver it. Cinderodham stood waiting outside the door to her stepfather’s bedroom, nestling a bowl of milk and a bowl of cat food in one arm as she reached for the door handle with her free hand. She took a deep breath and, steeling herself, she carefully cracked the door open just enough to shine light on the elegant gold canopied cushion by the bedside, atop which slept a rather mean looking white cat. The light roused him, and he gave an indignant purr. As quietly as possible Cinderodham crept into the room and set the two bowls down by the cushion. The cat’s mood seemed to improve upon seeing his breakfast arrive; he stepped down from his bed and began to eat. As Cinderodham turned to leave she paused for a moment, catching sight of something shiny lying atop the vacated cushion. It was a pearl necklace, her necklace, one of the few expensive possessions she was allowed to own.

“Mike! You took my pearls again!” She complained, glowering at the cat. Mike was prone to swiping various items from around the penthouse and hoarding them in and near his bed; aside from her pearls Cinderodham could see Sanderstasia’s spare pair of glasses, Cruzella’s autobiography, and various other items. Amidst the pilfered trinkets Cinderodham also noticed a strange object that didn’t look like anything she or her stepbrothers owned. It didn’t look like one of Trumpmaine’s things either, and didn’t even look as if it belonged in their residence to begin with.

“Hey, what’s that?” She wondered aloud. She knelt down to reach out and pick it up, but before she could so much as graze it with her fingertips Mike sprung up from his meal and started hissing and swiping at her with his claws. Cinderodham yanked her hand away and jumped back, nervously glancing over at her stepfather’s bed to see if the cat had woken him. Fortunately, Trumpmaine was still fast asleep, sprawled across his gold lamé sheets with his cellphone in hand. “Okay, okay! I’m leaving! You can keep whatever it is… for now, at least.” Making a mental note to come back and retrieve everyone’s things when Mike wasn’t in the vicinity she left the room as quietly as she came, weaving her way between all the garish gold furniture and decorations that Trumpmaine had cluttered the space with. She then headed into the kitchen to finish preparing breakfast for the rest of her family. After fixing all of the food she rushed off to her room to leave a meal for her mouse friends. Cinderodham set down a small tray of fruit, pastries, and water, which a crowd of mice promptly gathered around and began to dig into. She spied Nancy, Liz, and Tim among them, happily munching on the fruit.

“Could you do us a small favor today, Cinderodham?” Nancy asked as she picked up a slice of banana.

“Of course,” Cinderodham replied, “What can I do for you?”

“Tim, Liz, and I are looking for something of Tim’s that Mike stole and we think it might be in Trumpmaine’s room,” Nancy explained, “Could you find a way to sneak us in when Mike’s not there?

“Sure, I can do that.” She agreed. “I saw something unusual lying on Mike’s bed when I went to leave his food, it might be what you’re looking for. I’ll put you in my pocket so I can carry you around with me without my family seeing you until we find a good moment for me to let you out.” Cinderodham scooped the mice up and gently tucked them one by one into the pocket of her coat. She then returned to the kitchen to grab her stepfather’s breakfast tray, deciding to visit his room first so the mice wouldn’t have to stay cooped up for very long. Sanderstasia and Cruzella were both always up by this hour either pestering her or lazing around the penthouse and would return to their rooms to eat at their desks, but Trumpmaine would likely just be waking up, as he preferred to rise much later than his sons and enjoy his breakfast in bed. Cinderodham knocked on his door to announce her presence to him.

“Come in.” She heard him call back to her. She opened the door and slipped into the room, seeing her stepfather still lying in bed, tweeting away on his phone with one hand and stroking Mike, who was curled up in his lap, with the other.

“Good morning, Stepfather.” Cinderodham greeted him in the sweetest tone she could manage despite the revulsion she felt for the man. “Here’s your breakfast.” She set the tray, containing several cans of Diet Coke and a heaping mound of fatty bacon, eggs, and toast, down on his bedside table. Trumpmaine, still gazing at his phone, gave a grunt of acknowledgement and grabbed a slice of toast off the tray, dipping one corner into a runny egg yolk before chomping down on it.

“You know what you have to do today,” He told her as he fired off another tweet, “Polish the furniture, tend to Mike, handle the tower finances, write up Sanderstasia and Cruzella’s speeches, proofread their proposals, send out emails to the subjects in their provinces asking for donations, do the shopping, the cooking-the usual. If I think of anything else I’ll yell for you.” Cinderodham gave a curt nod and was about to reach into her pocket to let the mice out when she noticed that something was amiss. Mike’s bed was now devoid of all the items he had taken.

“Stepfather, where did all of the things by Mike’s bed go?” She asked.

“Sanderstasia and Cruzella must have taken them,” Trumpmaine replied, “They came in here a few minutes ago and woke me up whining about how Mike stole their stuff so I told them to just take whatever he had by his bed and shut up or else I’d smack both of them.” Cinderodham sighed, knowing that now she would have to approach her stepbrothers to get her pearls back and that they were more likely to torment her than cooperate. The mice also had to abandon their plan for the time being, since Tim’s stolen item had been collected by the brothers as well. Leaving Trumpmaine, Cinderodham retrieved Cruzella’s tray from the kitchen and made her way to his room. Cruzella’s room was much more spacious and elegant than her own, although it was considerably smaller than her stepfather’s, and it was filled with the same gaudy style of gold furniture. Cruzella was seated at his desk with a stack of proposals perched nearby, but instead of working on them he had his diary out and was writing in it. Cinderodham also noticed that he had gotten his autobiography back from Mike’s bed; it was lying atop his dresser and so were her pearls. She would have to come back and take them later after he and Sanderstasia had left for the court.

“Good morning, Cruzella,” She greeted him, “How did you sleep?”

“Why do you care?” Cruzella scoffed, slamming his diary shut so she couldn’t see its contents, although she suspected based off of previous peeks she had taken at it while he was off at the court that he was likely writing about his massive crush on a certain count from the province of Florida. “Check my proposals for any errors and have them back in an hour, I need them done before I head out to the royal court. Also, I’m almost out of pages in my latest diary! Go get me a new one!”

“Yes, Cruzella.” Cinderodham left his tray, containing coffee, bacon, and Texas queso dip, on his desk for him and scooped up the proposals. She brought them back to her room so she could go over them later and then went to get the final tray from the kitchen. It was time to pay Sanderstasia a visit.

“Did you see any of the stuff Mike took in Cruzella’s room?” Tim asked her, peeking out of her pocket. “Anything that might belong to me?” Cinderodham shook her head.

“Nothing except for Cruzella’s autobiography and my pearls,” She replied, “What you’re looking for is probably in Sanderstasia’s room.”

“Can you let us out there?” Nancy requested. “We can look for it while he’s distracted talking to you.” Cinderodham agreed to this, and before entering her stepbrother’s room she knelt by the door and let the mice out of her pocket. 

“I’ll try and keep his attention on me, but please still be careful that he doesn’t see you,” She warned them, “And make sure to watch out for his traps too.” The mice assured her that they would and discreetly scurried inside as she cracked the door open. Sanderstasia’s room was quite similar to Cruzella’s, although there were many mouse traps scattered about the floor, a blatant display of his dislike of the rodents. Sanderstasia was at his desk like his brother had been, and he also had a large stack of proposals waiting for Cinderodham. He had his computer out and was preaching on his official court Twitter account about the supposed revolution he was starting in the royal court and how he was fighting back against the establishment of mice in their home. Upon hearing his stepsister enter he turned her way and grimaced.

“Well, it’s about time you showed up with my breakfast,” He groused, “I hope you won’t take as long to go over my proposals.”

“Good morning, Sanderstasia.” Cinderodham greeted him cordially, ignoring his comment. She set Sanderstasia’s breakfast tray down for him, a not so healthy meal of cubes of Vermont cheddar cheese served with a bottle of Vermont maple syrup, and collected the waiting proposals. “I’ll get your proposals back to you as soon as possible.” Sanderstasia grumbled something about having no faith in her and her being unqualified and then started stuffing handfuls of cheese cubes into his mouth and chugging the maple syrup as if it were a beverage.

“You better,” He warned her, “Or else I’ll tell Father that you’re trying to sabotage me.” Cinderodham rolled her eyes, wanting nothing more at that moment than to leave, but she saw the mice still dashing about across the floor, carefully evading traps as they searched for Tim’s item. She had to endure Sanderstasia a little while longer, had to keep talking to keep him distracted.

“So, uh,” She started off, “Anything interesting happening in the royal court lately?” Although Sanderstasia typically avoided interacting with her unless it was to bully her she knew he enjoyed going off on long rants about the royal court and was hoping to bait him into one.

“Oh, lots is happening, all of it horrible! I haven’t gotten any proposals passed so far this year, and they’re amazing proposals-you’ve read them, you should know-so I’m convinced the other counts and countesses are trying to rig things against me!” Sanderstasia complained, “And King Obama is still trying to get Lord Garland appointed to the high court of law to fill the seat left vacant by the death of Lord Scalia, but Count McConnell of Kentucky is blocking him from doing so. Tensions with the Kingdom of Russia have also grown, and the king is worried that this could be an issue with the next coronation cycle if King Putin-what was that sound?” The two of them heard a loud, sharp noise, and Cinderodham was filled with dread. It sounded suspiciously like a mouse trap snapping down. She looked off in the direction of the noise and saw that one of Sanderstasia’s traps had indeed been set off, but much to her relief, none of her mouse friends were caught in it. She spied the three of them at its side, unharmed and trying frantically to free the tip of a strange object from the trap. Unfortunately, Sanderstasia also caught sight of them, and he let out a loud shriek. The mice abandoned the object and quickly scampered into a hole in the wall for cover as Sanderstasia threw his now empty bottle of maple syrup in their direction and ran out into the hall. The bottle hit the wall and shattered, and Cinderodham started to panic. She knew Sanderstasia was going to tell his father about this, and it wouldn’t end well for her.

“Sanderstasia! Wait!” She called out, running after him. Sanderstasia stopped, and Cinderodham came to a halt a few feet behind him as he turned to face her, looking furious. Cruzella and Trumpmaine had heard Sanderstasia’s scream and had both poked their heads out from their rooms to watch him confront his stepsister.

“You let vermin into my room!” He accused her. “Father, there were three mice crawling all over my floor! Cinderodham let them in; punish her for this!”

“Cinderodham, come here.” Trumpmaine demanded, beckoning for her to enter his room. “Close the door behind you.” Cinderodham tensed up and did as she was told as Cruzella and Sanderstasia grinned smugly. Trumpmaine, despite providing them with material comforts and career advances, could be just as abusive to the two of them as he was to Cinderodham. However, they took delight in his cruel treatment when it was directed towards someone other than themselves. With the door closed and her stepbrothers shut out Cinderodham stood alone in the darkened room, clutching Sanderstasia’s proposals to her chest and eyeing Trumpmaine, who had plopped down on the edge of his bed. Mike had hopped into his lap again, and he stroked the cat’s snowy fur as he regarded her silently, mulling over a suitable punishment for her. What would he do this time? Would he starve her? Strike her? Lock her up in her room?

“Stepfather, I-” She started to explain, but Trumpmaine wasn’t going to have any of it.

“Be quiet!” He snapped, making her wince and fall silent. “You’ve clearly got too much free time, that’s the problem here! Instead of wasting it harassing your stepbrother maybe I can have you put it to better use. I’ve thought of a few extra things for you to take care of in addition to your normal chores. The carpet hasn’t been steamed in forever, and the windows need to be cleaned too, they’re still smudged from when that ridiculous commoner tried to climb up the tower! You also need to collect rent from the tower residents, and the foliage decorating the lobby needs pruning and watering too.”

“But I just did all of that yesterday!” Cinderodham pointed out.

“Do it again!” Trumpmaine ordered her. “Oh, and the lobby also needs to be mopped, and Cruzella and Sanderstasia need a few of their suits tailored, and don’t forget to give Mike his bath!” Mike hissed at this, clearly not in the mood for bathing. Cinderodham nodded sadly, dropped the latest stack of proposals off at her room, and headed into the bathroom to draw a bath for the cat. She was glad that she wouldn’t be deprived of a meal or locked away, but being forced to do more pointless menial chores wasn’t substantially better.

“Cinderodham?” She heard a voice call out, and she recognized it as Nancy. Cinderodham glanced to her side and saw her three mouse friends emerge from behind a bottle of Cruzella’s shampoo that was sitting on the edge of the tub. They all bore contrite expressions and had their heads hung low. “We’re very sorry that we got you into trouble.” Nancy apologized.

“We found what we were looking for, but we accidentally bumped it against one of Sanderstasia’s traps while moving it and Sanderstasia noticed us before we could find a place to hide.” Liz explained.

“We’ll find a way to make it up to you!” Tim promised. “Anything you need, we’ll do our best to get it done! Can we help you with your chores?”

“I think you three are a little too small for that, but I appreciate the gesture,” Cinderodham thanked them, “It’s okay, I’m not mad at any of you, and unfortunately I’m used to being treated this way by my family. If you want I can try to get the thing you’re looking for from Sanderstasia’s room later while he’s at the royal court.”

“No no, you’ve done more than enough!” Tim assured her. “I don’t want him to notice you’ve gone through his things and go crying to his father again.”

“We’ll get it ourselves,” Liz vowed, “And we’ll get your pearls back too! We’ve got a plan for it.”

“I hope your plan works. I’d love to hear about it, but you should probably leave the bathroom before I put Mike in the tub,” Cinderodham advised them, “He gets even more unpleasant than usual around water.” Not wanting to deal with a vicious cat, the mice hopped off the edge of the tub onto a sponge on the floor below and scampered out the door. Cinderodham sighed, picked up the sponge, and went off to retrieve Mike. It was going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long to get this next chapter up. Not to overshare too much but I’ve not been the best from a mental health standpoint and haven't had the enthusiasm or energy for hobbies that I normally love like writing. My mental health has always been kind of up and down, but for basically all of 2019 it was especially bad and it’s at a really low point right now, but I'm working to get back to a better place. It really means a lot to me to see kudos and nice comments on the cursed shit that I write, I’m glad my ridiculous writing can bring other people some joy and humor and diversion from this crazy ass world we live in even if I’m not feeling all that great myself at the moment. There’s a lot I have to look forward to in this year, but a lot I’m dreading as well, and it’s all so overwhelming. The election also has me feeling kind of down, but I won’t talk about that much here. Inauguration day is exactly a year away; hopefully by this time next year things will be a little better, but maybe not. Anyways, enough of that, I hope you enjoy this chapter and hope it was worth the wait.

While Cinderodham was going about the chores she was saddled with, in Washington Royal District, the capitol of the kingdom, America’s currently reigning king was preparing for the selection of the new king or queen to succeed him. Since America’s inception its residents could gain lesser titles of nobility through family or merit, but the crown could only be won on merit alone. Every four years any noblemen, noblewomen, or commoners who desired the crown would come to the Royal District for a massive coronation ball. At the ball the competing nobles would go before the reigning king and living former kings, then they would mingle among the subjects to present their proposed agendas. The process of selecting the new king or queen was quite simple and democratic-or, it was intended to be, at least. While residents of the kingdom who lived in Washington Royal District and in the neighboring provinces of Virginia, Delaware, and Maryland typically attended the coronation ball in person most of those who resided in the more distant provinces could not make that journey. The ball was broadcast across the kingdom via television and internet so even those who were not attending could witness it and judge the candidates for the crown, and subjects were able to vote either by paper ballot or electronically at polling stations in every province.

The coronation ball was traditionally held on the eve of the first Tuesday following the first Monday of November, but that day had finally arrived and there was a slight hiccup in the plans. With every coronation cycle the ball had a different theme, and King Obama of Illinois, the incumbent king, was tasked with selecting that theme. Unfortunately, he was having a difficult time deciding upon a suitable one. The ball was scheduled to start in mere hours, and preparation couldn’t begin until the theme was set, so King Obama had called an emergency meeting with the kingdom’s four living past kings to assist him in choosing. The five of them were seated in the elegant Yellow Oval Room of the White Palace, a fanciful, pure white castle in Washington Royal District where each king and his family resided during his rule. King Obama stood in front of the fireplace, presiding over the other kings seated around him on the plush regal sofas. The withered form of King Bush the Elder of Texas, the forty-first and oldest of the living former kings, occupied the sofa to the right of him. The king had grown rather sickly in his old age, spending much of his time now in the company of his family in the province of Texas or vacationing in the province of Maine, so King Obama appreciated that he had made the long journey to the Royal District to meet with him. Seated next to the eldest king was his son, King Bush the Younger of Texas, the forty-third king. The younger Bush had a reputation of being rather dimwitted, and King Obama disagreed with many of the decisions he had made during his reign, but he was desperate for ideas no matter who they might come from and wasn’t going to complain about his presence. On the left sofa sat another old king, King Carter of Georgia, the thirty-ninth ruler of America. Though he and the elder King Bush were the same age King Carter was much more robust and healthy in his golden years, still finding the energy and the time to travel among the various kingdoms of the world to work on humanitarian projects. King Carter could come across as arrogant or catty at times in the way he critiqued and meddled in the affairs of his fellow kings, and every other king held some animosity towards him for this, but again, King Obama was desperate for ideas, and at the very least King Carter would be more competent than either of the Bushes. The final of the living former kings sat on the same sofa as King Carter, though there was a considerable gap between the two, a visible marker of the tension between them. This final king was King Clinton of Arkansas, the forty-second to rule.

King Clinton was known for his friendliness and charm, and that combined with his good looks, his striking white hair and soft blue eyes, made him quite lucky with the ladies of the kingdom, perhaps a little too lucky for his own good. Though he’d had many a lady lover King Clinton was the only one of the former kings to not have a wife, and that was understandable given that he had a reputation for being a bit of a rakehell. In spite of his amorous dalliances that often garnered him and his various lady friends unwanted press attention he was perhaps the most successful of the former kings, and the one King Obama was most counting on for assistance in coming up with the ball’s theme. Unfortunately, even with the five of them collaborating together, they still didn’t seem to be making any progress.

“Why don’t we ask our dukes for ideas?” King Carter eventually suggested. “Shall we send for them?”

“I visited One Observatory Manor last evening to consult Duke Biden before calling upon you four, and while he’s a dear friend and I value his insight greatly he was more focused on the food than the theme,” King Obama muttered flatly, “He couldn’t think of any suggestions and kept begging me to add a buffet line of ice cream and toppings to the menu.”

“Duke Cheney wished to have a hunting themed ball, and when I advised him to come up with a different theme he suggested a waterboarding themed one. I thought he was talking about a pool activity, but he clarified that he was talking about the torture technique instead,” King Bush the Younger explained, “When I told him that wasn’t a good idea either he told me to go fuck myself. I think it was a very productive meeting! I enjoy that we have such a close friendship that he feels comfortable enough to insult me!” The other kings all rolled their eyes at his obliviousness to his duke’s blatant disdain for him.

“Duke Quayle sent me a list containing several theme ideas,” Said King Bush the Elder, “However, the list contained many misspellings that made it incomprehensible, so I’m not quite sure what exactly his suggestions were.”

“Duke Gore wished for you to hold a ball on the subject of environmental awareness, but that theme, while noble, was already used by me for the ball for the 2000 coronation cycle and all it did was make the duke and I a laughingstock,” King Clinton chimed in, “What about Duke Mondale?”

“Duke Mondale mentioned to me that he might like an art themed ball in memory of his dearly departed duchess and her passion for the arts,” Said King Carter, “A touching tribute, but perhaps a little too personal for a coronation ball.”

“Damn it!” King Obama groaned in frustration, “I have to address the royal court in an hour’s time, the ball is set to begin not too long after that, and we still don’t have a theme! I’m going to have to put on a mask of ease so none of the nobles catch on to my distress over this.”

“A mask?” King Clinton repeated, suddenly struck with inspiration. “That’s it! A mask! Your majesty, it should be a masquerade ball!” King Obama’s mood instantly shifted; he was thrilled with this suggestion! Finally, a theme he could work with!

“A masquerade? That’s a wonderful idea, King Clinton!” He beamed. “It’s simple, it can be prepared in no time at all, and I can envision a powerful message behind it! Because the nobles will come wearing masks it will emphasize the importance of the new king or queen’s character and accomplishments over their appearance. I must alert my staff to begin preparations immediately!” King Obama called upon his staff and directed them to begin working on the food and decorations, then he sent for his White Palace press secretary to get the word out to the kingdom. With a single tweet, the message was sent, and all of the eligible subjects began eagerly preparing for their chance to win the crown.

Back at the penthouse Sanderstasia and Cruzella were in the living room practicing giving speeches and debating with each other under the not so watchful eye of their father. Sanderstasia was giving a longwinded, repetitive speech about healthcare and taxes, Cruzella was dismissing all of Sanderstasia’s ideas, and Trumpmaine was ignoring both of them and tweeting. Cinderodham was in the lobby many floors below, quietly rehearsing her own speeches to herself as she mopped the floor. Her mouse friends were not with her, having retreated to the safety of her room to formulate a new plan to get Tim’s stolen item back, and Cinderodham was enjoying this moment she had in solitude. Unfortunately, she didn’t remain in solitude for very long. A loud meowing noise reached her ears, and she looked down to see Mike sitting in front of her, his fluffy white tail swaying back and forth. His paws were covered in dirt, and smudgy paw prints had been tracked from one of the lobby’s potted plants across the tiles she had just mopped up. Cinderodham grimaced; that damned cat had been playing in the soil again! If Mike had been human Cinderodham felt that he would be wearing a smug smirk right now, taking joy in creating additional messes for her to fix.

“Mike, you horrible cat!” She snapped indignantly as he scampered off towards the stairs, marring them with even more paw prints. “No wonder Stepfather likes you so much! You love making me miserable just like him!” She began to mop up the fresh paw prints, but then she heard a sudden ping on her cell phone. Cinderodham pulled it out of her pocket and saw that a notification from the Twitter account of the White Palace press secretary had popped up on the screen. The notification read “An urgent tweet from his majesty King Obama.” Intrigued by this and wanting an excuse to take a break from mopping, she rushed up the stairs to share the message with her family. Cinderodham entered the penthouse, only to see her two stepbrothers quarreling and pushing and shoving each other as Trumpmaine made halfhearted attempts to get them to cease while firing off angry tweets laden with typos.

“Your speech is awful, Sanderstasia!” Cruzella derided his brother. “The subjects of the kingdom won’t stand for you raising their taxes!”

“Well, they won’t stand for you stripping them of their healthcare!” Sanderstasia retorted. “Cruzella, do you honestly think you’ll keep your position in the court by advocating for something as abhorrent as that? I hear that Viscount O’Rourke of Texas is thinking of challenging you for your title during the next mid-reign cycle! If you wish to keep it it’d be wise of you to reconsider!”

“Knock it off, both of you! Both of your ideas are garbage!” Trumpmaine shouted, making his sons wince. “I told you that you should use mine instead! The wall around the kingdom will solve everything!” Glancing up from his phone, he finally noticed Cinderodham standing in the doorway, and he greeted her with a nasty scowl. “Why are you here? You’re gonna distract your brothers from their very very important speeches! Get back to work or I’ll lock you up in your room!”

“But the White Palace press secretary just retweeted from the King-” She started to say, although as soon as she had mentioned the king her stepbrothers clamored over and yanked her phone away from her. They started squabbling over who would get to read the tweet first before Trumpmaine finally intervened and snatched the phone from both of them.

“I’ll read it, you idiots!” He sneered, turning his nose up at them. He opened up the notification and began to read the tweet. A wicked grin slowly crept its way across his face, prompting curiosity from his stepdaughter and sons.

“What does it say, Father?” Cruzella asked.

“The royal ball to select the new king or queen is being held this evening!” Trumpmaine revealed. “The theme for this coronation cycle’s ball is masquerade, and every eligible subject of the kingdom is invited to attend it at the White Palace!”

“Finally, I get my chance to be king and take down the court establishment!” Sanderstasia cheered.

“Not if I become king first and undo all of King Obama’s wrongs!” Cruzella huffed.

“Maybe I could be queen!” Cinderodham proposed. This earned her nothing but condescending laughter from her family.

“Ha! As if the kingdom would ever select you!” Cruzella dismissed her. “You should stay home and clean and cook and knit for us like you’re supposed to, not go around politicking.”

“The kingdom would never select a woman to reign!” Sanderstasia added. “And you’re terribly unqualified!”

“I don’t think that I am,” Cinderodham replied, “I meet the age requirement, I’ve been a citizen of the kingdom since birth, and I have held the title of both countess and minister of state. I think I have a good idea of what it takes to lead the kingdom and what would be the best way to serve its subjects. Besides, it says every eligible subject is invited. I’m an eligible subject; even if I don’t become the queen shouldn’t I at least be allowed to attend and enjoy the festivities?” Her stepbrothers eyed her with contempt, while Trumpmaine regarded her quietly for a moment, as if he was calculating something sinister.

“Well, I don’t see any reason why you can’t,” He finally decided, earning appalled looks from his sons, “But you’ve gotta finish all of your chores for the day by seven this evening when the ball starts, and you’ve gotta find something nice to wear. The kingdom would never crown someone in such a sad looking pantsuit!” Cinderodham glanced down at her dull ensemble, covered in dust and grime from the menial work she’d been doing, then she looked up to meet Trumpmaine’s gaze again. She narrowed her eyes at him, knowing full well that he was playing her, that it would be nearly impossible to both complete the massive assortment of chores for the day and put together a suitable outfit, but she didn’t give away any hints of apprehension. She was determined to prove him wrong. She held her head up high and flashed a confident grin.

“Save a seat for me in the limousine.” She smirked. With that, she hurried off to finish her chores. Cruzella and Sanderstasia were furious and immediately began berating Trumpmaine.

“Father! How could you agree to let her attend the ball?” Sanderstasia shouted at him. “She’s going to rig things against me and ruin my chance to win the crown!”

“What if she does win the crown, Father?” Cruzella worried. “I’ve seen the suggestions she leaves on my proposals and speeches! She’s against everything that I’m for; she’d go completely against what I think the kingdom needs!”

“Well, she would be better than you, you ignorant fool,” Sanderstasia grumbled, “But she’s completely unqualified when compared to me! I want to be king and I deserve it much more! Father, you need to stop her from attending!”

“I won’t have to, Sanderstasia!” Trumpmaine chuckled triumphantly. “She’s not going to be coming with us!”

“But Father, you said that she could!” Cruzella pointed out.

“I did-but only if she finished all her chores and found something to wear,” He reminded his son, “And that’s not going to happen.”

“Of course!” Sanderstasia realized. “You’ve made it so that’s going to be impossible for her to do! Oh Father, that’s uncharacteristically brilliant of you!” Trumpmaine grinned, basking in that backhanded compliment.

“Yep, my IQ is one of the highest!” He boasted. “Both of your candidacies for the crown are safe, and so is mine. Now go grab your best suits and get yourselves some masks to wear, we’ve got a ball to prepare for!” Satisfied that their stepsister wouldn’t be joining them, Cruzella and Sanderstasia hurried off to begin putting together their own ensembles for the ball.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it’s been a while. I’m sorry that it always takes me so long to update, mental health is still bad for me and there’s a lot of other bad shit going on so I haven’t felt like writing all that much. A lot has happened since the last time I updated this, oh dear where do I even begin? If you’re reading this at some point in the future when it’s finally over, at the time that I’m posting this it’s July 2020, we’re in the middle of the coronavirus pandemic, and we are not having a fun time in the United States or in the world in general, to put it lightly. I guess that despite the shitty situation in my country I should be proud that I have a bachelor’s degree now. I graduated from college in May, but it wasn’t really much of a graduation since the ceremony was cancelled due to the virus. I guess I should feel thankful that I’m healthy and am able to be at home with my family and able to keep working for and giving to good causes, but I’m not feeling much of anything right now. All I feel is numb and tired and depressed. I started college thinking that in a couple months we’d elect the first woman president, get a liberal supreme court, and get some good things done. I graduated from college with Trump essentially killing Americans by horrifically mismanaging the pandemic response, destroying the economy, giving the court a conservative majority, and doing nothing about all the racist violence from the police. At the time that I’m posting this chapter almost 140,000 Americans have died because of the virus and Trump’s malicious mishandling of it and police around the country are beating people protesting police brutality as police attacks against black Americans continue. The virus death toll’s going to continue to go up, the beatings and racist attacks are going to continue. I want to believe that things will get better at some point, I try to hang in there and to do what I can to help good causes and work for and with good people, but it feels very hopeless at times, and especially so right now. As much as I want to believe Trump will be voted out in November I don’t trust my country to make good choices. I’m kind of disappointed that we ended up with Joe Biden as the nominee even though I always suspected that we’d get him and I don’t really like any of his potential running mates except for one person, but I know that he’s probably not going to pick her. Even though I’m not super happy with this ticket I always vote and do my part to help out. I don’t need to feel excited about the candidates to vote because wanting to keep myself and others safe is more than enough motivation for me to vote and to work to try and get my candidate elected. I wish more people thought that way about voting because if they did we might not be in this shitty situation right now. Anyways, my country is a mess and I’m real fucking depressed, as usual. Here’s some more shit that I wrote.

Cinderodham sat on the edge of her bed, eyeing her open closet, where the few shabby suits she owned had been pushed aside to reveal a single elegant, if slightly dated, pink pantsuit draping from a bent wire hanger. A masquerade mask stuck out from one of the suit’s pockets; it was a simple faded pink mask with some rhinestones and feathers adorning it. Cinderodham smiled approvingly and turned towards her mouse friends, who were gathered at her side. She had decided to take a brief pause from her chores to tell them about the coronation ball and show them what she intended on wearing to it.

“Don’t you think this suit and this mask are lovely?” She asked them. “They belonged to my mother; she made them herself for the very first coronation ball that she ever attended. I know the suit’s a little old fashioned, but I can turn it into something more modern. What if I make some alterations and add in some accessories so it looks a little like this?” Cinderodham grabbed a fashion magazine that she’d swiped from the lobby earlier and thumbed through it until she came across the page she’d wanted to show the mice. She held it up for them to see, displaying an image of a model wearing a pink pantsuit with a stylish scarf and headband. The jacket was shorter, unlike the long coat of Cinderodham’s mother’s suit, and the pants were tapered at the ankles.

“You’d look beautiful in that!” Tim beamed.

“Yup!” Liz agreed. “Add the mask to that and you’ve got yourself a winning look!”

“How long would it take for you to put all of this together?” Inquired Nancy.

“Hopefully not too long,” Cinderodham replied, closing the magazine and setting it down on her bed, “I don’t think I’ll have a lot of time to work on it after I finish my chores. Excuse me; I have to go dust the furniture now.” She exited the room, leaving the mice alone.

“Oh, poor Cinderodham,” Tim sighed sadly, “Her family’s always pushing her around. Well, on the bright side, at least she has the ball to look forward to!”

“I don’t think she’ll be able to go to the ball,” Liz pointed out, “Her stepfather’s gonna keep piling up chores to give her! They’ll take up so much of her time that she’ll never be able to finish her suit, and she can’t go if she has nothing to wear!”

“But Liz, we know how to sew! What if we finished her suit for her?” Nancy suggested. “It wouldn’t take long at all for the three of us and the rest of the mice to tailor it!” Tim and Liz thought this was a great idea, so the three of them rallied the other mice, poked around in Cinderodham’s sewing kit for some supplies, and they all got to work trimming and threading and crafting a beautiful suit for their friend. They’d finished the alterations in no time, shortening the coat and tapering the pants, but they still needed material to fashion the scarf and headband to compliment the suit. Nancy headed off to search the rest of the penthouse for items that they could use, with Tim and Liz accompanying her. After some discussion, the three of them decided to risk entering Sanderstasia’s room again. They planned to first pilfer through his things to see if he had any materials that they could repurpose for Cinderodham’s accessories and then they would search for that mysterious item of Tim’s that was still missing. Nancy led the way through the network of holes in the walls until they came upon the one in Sanderstasia’s room that they had dashed into earlier to hide from him. Peering out from it, they saw that the room was currently occupied. Cinderodham stood there with her stepbrothers, who were shoving their nicest suits into her arms.

“Go iron these and bring them right back to us!” Cruzella demanded. “We need to look our best for the ball.”

“The ball that you won’t be attending.” Sanderstasia smirked. Cinderodham rolled her eyes and left without a word, not willing to provoke them into crying about her to Trumpmaine. With their stepsister gone, Sanderstasia and Cruzella immediately proceeded to argue about what else they should wear for the ball. Over the years they both had received a considerable collection of belts, shoes, ties, and other embellishments as gifts from their father, and they had spread them all out atop Sanderstasia’s bed to examine. Despite the wide array of choices available to them, neither of them found the various accessories to be satisfactory and casted whatever they didn’t like down onto the floor.

“I hate this belt!” Cruzella whined as he loosened the rather snug pink belt he had tried on. “I know it was a birthday present from Father, but it’s an awful color and it doesn’t fit right! I can’t wear it for the ball!”

“Well I don’t like this tie Father got me either!” Sanderstasia huffed as he held up a bright pink tie, “It doesn’t go with any of my suits!”

“Why don’t we take a break from this and go decorate our masks?” Cruzella suggested.

“Might as well; that’s a better use of our time.” Sanderstasia reasoned, “Be careful on your way out; Father will smack both of us if you get your foot caught in one of my traps again and he has to send for a doctor.” Cruzella nodded, the two of them dropped the tie and belt on the floor with their other rejected accessories, and they carefully weaved their way through the maze of mouse traps to exit the room. Once they were gone Nancy, Liz, and Tim prepared to enter, but from their hiding place they spied Mike emerging from underneath Sanderstasia’s bed. The cat hopped atop the sheets, stretched out, purred, and then settled down to nap. Figuring that they wouldn’t have any problems as long as Mike remained asleep, the mice quietly rushed out to grab the discarded belt and tie. They were the perfect shade of pink to match Cinderodham’s suit and could be easily repurposed into accessories for her. Being more mindful of the traps this time, the mice managed to get the tie back to the hole without rousing Mike. As they went back for the belt, Tim suddenly hesitated in front of the mass of other garments and baubles that Sanderstasia and Cruzella had strewn about the room. He spied a very familiar object down at the foot of the bed.

“Nancy, Liz, I’ve found my missing item!” He informed them, “Would you wait in the hole for me while I go get it?” Liz and Nancy told him they would, and the two of them carried the belt back to the hole while Tim crept out to the object. He sifted his way through crumpled shirts and dress pants, through scattered cufflinks and cummerbunds, until he finally reached what he’d been looking for, half sticking out from underneath an old blazer. Tim’s eyes lit up with delight and relief as he grabbed hold of the thing, but unfortunately for him at that very moment Mike awoke. Tim caught his eye; he glowered down at the little mouse below, hissed loudly, and pounced. He landed atop the blazer, missing Tim by mere inches, and proceeded to swipe at him with his claws. Panicked, Tim did his best to scurry off and dodge the cruel cat, although it was difficult with the object slowing him down and the mouse traps blocking his path. Thankfully Nancy and Liz intervened, scampering by on both sides of Mike to draw his attention away from Tim. Mike chased the two of them, giving Tim just enough time to flee back to the hole, and once he had made it there safely Nancy and Liz hurried off to join him. Mike tried to catch up, but in his haste he ran straight into a trap and ended up getting one of his front paws caught, stopping him in his tracks. The cat howled in pain, falling flat on his side and scratching at the trap with his free paw until it finally came loose. Mike let out a whimper that almost had the mice feeling bad for him, followed by another angry hiss in their direction, and then he limped out of the room. The mice breathed a collective sigh of relief, glad that the danger had passed.

“That was close!” Liz remarked, “But now we’ve got the last few things we need to finish Cinderodham’s suit, and Mike won’t be able to chase us around with an injured paw!”

“Yeah! And Tim managed to find… whatever that is!” Said Nancy as she eyed the strange object that their friend was holding. She hadn’t gotten a very good look at it when they’d grabbed it earlier in the day, and she couldn’t quite make out what it was now in the darkness of the hole, but it appeared to be some kind of slender stick. Deciding not to ask any questions about it, she led Tim and Liz back to Cinderodham’s room so they could add the final touches to the suit.

It was nearly seven in the evening now, and the ball would be starting soon. Cinderodham was overcome with despair as she finished sponging the large glass doors leading from the tower’s lobby out to the street. Her chores were finally done, but she had absolutely no time to fix up her suit! Through the freshly cleaned glass she spied the chauffer pulling Trumpmaine’s garish golden limousine up to the curb, and with a heavy heart she went to let her family know that their ride had arrived. She returned to the penthouse, where she found Trumpmaine and her stepbrothers putting their masks on. Sanderstasia and Cruzella had made fairly standard masks, decorated with a bit of paint and feathers, while Trumpmaine had obnoxiously covered his in gold glitter that flaked off onto his face and suit like sparkly dandruff whenever he moved.

“Stepfather, the limo is out front.” Cinderodham informed him.

“And you still don’t have a suit to wear for the ball! Sad!” Trumpmaine replied, his voice laced with mock pity. “Well, guess you aren’t coming with us this year!”

“Don’t worry, when it’s over with and I’m crowned the next king I’ll tell you all about it!” Sanderstasia taunted her, wearing a smug grin.

“Not if I become king instead!” Cruzella scoffed. Cinderodham didn’t reply; she was feeling exhausted from all the chores and decided she would rest for a while. As her stepfather and stepbrothers departed for the elevator she went to her room and immediately flopped down onto the bed, burying her face in her pillow.

“Well, maybe next coronation cycle I’ll be able to go…” She thought to herself. She tried to shove her sadness aside and doze off, but the unmistakable sound of little mouse feet scampering across the floor hit her ears. Lifting her head, she noticed that her mouse friends had gathered at her bedside, and they all looked rather excited about something.

“Cinderodham! There you are! We’ve got a surprise for you!” Nancy announced. She gestured towards the closet, and the rest of the mice ran over to pry the doors open, revealing their handiwork to their human friend. They had fashioned Sanderstasia’s pink tie into a scarf and used a portion of Cruzella’s belt to shape a headband, which, along with the mask, were proudly displayed next to the newly tailored pantsuit. Cinderodham’s eyes widened in shocked delight.

“Oh wow!” She gasped. “You put this together just for me? Oh, thank you all so much! I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done tonight!” She was so touched that her friends had given her such a special gift, had saved her chance to attend the ball.

“Hurry up and get dressed before the limo leaves without you!” Liz urged her.

“We believe in you, Cinderodham!” Tim cheered her on. “We know you’ve got it in you to be queen!” Cinderodham smiled, her confidence bolstered by her friend’s kind words. She thanked the mice once again and rushed to put on her suit and mask. Meanwhile, Trumpmaine, Sanderstasia, and Cruzella were just stepping out of the elevator into the lobby. As they walked towards the doors Trumpmaine told his sons of his plan to secure the crown.

“Okay, so I’m gonna try and become king, right? But if I’m not the next king, then one of you needs to be, so you better not screw this up tonight!” He lectured them, “If you can’t win over the subjects of America you can always resort to seducing one of the kings! By working your way into a king’s bed you’re sure to win the crown!” Neither Sanderstasia nor Cruzella seemed enthused about potentially whoring out for a king.

“But Father, we can’t do that! None of the kings are my type!” Cruzella lamented. “And they’re all so old!”

“I’m not crawling into bed with another man!” Sanderstasia refused. “I don’t swing that way.”

“Then you’d better hope you win enough support to get the crown without having to bang a royal!” Trumpmaine huffed, “Come on, into the limo!”

“Wait for me!” A voice called out to them, bringing them to a halt. The three men grimaced, recognizing it as Cinderodham. They turned in her direction and saw her hurrying down the stairs, breathless but beautiful in her pink suit and mask. Sanderstasia and Cruzella were instantly jealous of her. How were they supposed to get the attention of the kingdom’s subjects or the kings when she was dressed in such an eye-catching ensemble? The two of them were going to blend into the crowd compared to her! Trumpmaine was furious that his stepdaughter had somehow managed to put together an outfit in such little time, but he tried not to let it show.

“Cinderodham,” He greeted her coldly, “You finished your suit. How… tremendous. How very tremendous.” Cinderodham could sense the animosity from her family, could see the hatred and envy in their eyes as they glared at her. It made her uneasy, but she held her head high and flashed them a grin, determined not to let them get to her.

“So, what are we still standing here for?” She smirked. “The limo’s waiting.” Sanderstasia and Cruzella clung to their father and began whining at him to do something, both brothers unwilling to accept that their stepsister would be attending. Trumpmaine gripped each of them hard by the shoulder, making them wince, and drew them in close.

“Knock it off! I know how we can still win!” He hissed quietly. Letting them go, he approached Cinderodham, examining her suit more closely. He ran his fingers along her cheek, making her shiver with disgust, and brought his hand up to stroke her headband. “That’s a nice headband you’ve got there. Is it leather? It looks just like that pink leather belt I bought Cruzella for his birthday last year. And that scarf,” He continued, trailing his hand down to Cinderodham’s neck and hooking his fingertips into her scarf, “Pink silk, like that tie I got Sanderstasia when he first joined the court.”

“Hey! That is Cruzella’s belt!” Sanderstasia realized. “And that’s my tie!”

“Oh, you crooked thief!” Cruzella wailed. “I loved that belt, and you stole it from me!”

“You think you can just come into our rooms and take things that rightfully belong to us?” Sanderstasia snapped angrily. “Well, we’re going to take them back! Let’s get her, Cruzella!” Trumpmaine shuffled aside as his sons descended upon their stepsister, pulling and tugging and clawing at her and her outfit as she attempted to fend them off. Trumpmaine made no effort to break up the fight; he trotted over to the lobby desk, grabbed a Diet Coke can from the mini fridge behind it, and popped it open with an audible fizz. He took out his phone and scrolled through Twitter while he chugged the soda, ignoring his children and reading all of the tweets about the upcoming royal ball as he fired off a few jabs towards King Obama to stir up controversy and get noticed. After a few minutes Trumpmaine’s thirst had been quenched and his desire for attention had been sated, so he tossed the now empty Coke can aside, pocketed his phone, and turned back to the scuffle.

“That’s enough, boys! Stand down!” He commanded his sons, “I think you’ve taught Crooked Cinderodham a lesson. Get in the limo; we need to leave now or we’re gonna be late.” Sanderstasia and Cruzella let their stepsister go and made their way out to their ride. Cinderodham didn’t join them; she hadn’t been injured, though her suit and accessories were in tatters and her hair was in disarray. Trumpmaine regarded her for a moment, taking glee in the sight of her standing there in an unsightly mess of torn fabric. Now he would never have to worry about her becoming queen. He grinned an absolutely wicked grin, then went to accompany his sons, leaving Cinderodham alone in the lobby to watch them drive off into the distance. Shaken up from the fight and not knowing what else to do, she slumped down against one of the lobby benches and cried. Nancy and Liz scurried out from behind one of the nearby plants.

“We saw all of that,” Nancy told Cinderodham, resting one of her paws gently on her leg, “I’m so sorry they did that to you. They always have to resort to unfair tricks to knock you down and get you out of their way; it says way more about them than it does about you.”

“We can fix your suit up so you can still go to the ball,” Liz offered, “It won’t take very long! All we need are some needles and a little thread and we can make it good as new!”

“No you can’t,” Cinderodham choked out between a sob, “There’s not enough time. I had this one chance to become queen, I did everything I could to go to the ball, and they played dirty and took it away from me. I’ve got an absolutely rotten family!”

“Your family might be rotten, but you’ve still got us, your friends,” Nancy reassured her, “You’ve got me, Liz, Tim-speaking of Tim, where did he go off to?” Tim had been watching with her and Liz but had disappeared somewhere soon after Sanderstasia and Cruzella had attacked.

“I’m not sure; I don’t see him anywhere. Hey, what are these?” Liz inquired as a cloud of shimmering, sparkling particles began filling the air. Before Cinderodham could ask what she was talking about, she suddenly felt that her face was no longer pressed against the frigid gold bench. Her cheek was pressed against something soft and warm, and she felt a gentle hand stroking her hair. She lifted her head and saw that a man was sitting on the bench, and she was resting against his leg. The man was wearing a blue cloak with a hood, held closed by a dark pink ribbon tied in an elegant bow, and underneath that he wore khakis and a dark pink button up shirt. His sudden appearance had startled Cinderodham, but he didn’t give off a negative presence. He exuded only benevolence and kindness, and for some reason that she couldn’t quite put her finger on he looked extremely familiar to her.

“Who are you?” She asked him. “Where did you come from?”

“I am called Kaine,” He introduced himself, “But you know me by a different name. You know me as Tim.” Cinderodham was in disbelief. How was this possible?

“What? But you were a mouse until just now!” She exclaimed, “You’re really a human?” Tim gave an amused chuckle at this.

“I’m a fairy, actually!” He revealed. “This is my true form, but I can shapeshift into whatever form I please. However, this only works as long as I’m wielding my wand to channel my magic.” He held up and gestured to a thin silver stick, and Cinderodham recognized it as the strange item she’d seen in Mike’s bed that morning. “Your stepfather’s cat managed to get ahold of my wand while I was doing some exploring in the form of a mouse, and then he chased me into that trap, which is how you all found me. Thank you for being so kind to me, Cinderodham, and thank you Liz and Nancy for helping me get my wand back.” The two mice grinned appreciatively, and Cinderodham managed to offer up a smile too in spite of her distress.

“You’re welcome, Kaine,” She replied, “I only wish that I could have gotten to see your true form under better circumstances.”

“But circumstances can be better!” Kaine assured her. He tapped the tip of his wand against his palm, causing a tissue to materialize. He handed it to Cinderodham, and she used it to blot away her tears. “Dry your eyes, Cinderodham! You’re going to that ball! It’ll just take a little magic and… that soda can!” Kaine gestured to the Diet Coke can that Trumpmaine had discarded on the ground.

“That soda can?” Cinderodham repeated, feeling confused. “How will that help?”

“Wait and see!” Kaine laughed with a twinkle in his eye. The fairy tapped his wand against his palm once more, causing a harmonica to materialize, and he began to dance around and play a cheerful tune, interspersing it with whimsical rhymes and song as Cinderodham and the mice looked on. “Now your eyes are dried and you’ve got a sweet ride, bibbidi bobbidi boo!” Kaine pointed his wand at the Coke can and shot a bolt of magic in its direction. The can started to roll towards the exit; Kaine danced over to the door and nudged it open with his foot, letting the can roll into the street. The can began to transform in a cloud of more shimmering particles, growing in size and changing in shape until it resembled a sleek silver limo.

“Oh, it’s wonderful!” Cinderodham beamed. “It’s way nicer than my stepfather’s! Thank you!”

“It’s beautiful!” Said Liz. “Just imagine the looks on all the other nobles’ faces when you show up to the ball in that!”

“I wish that we could go to the ball too,” Nancy sighed longingly, “Although I know that we wouldn’t be welcome. The noblemen and noblewomen would think we were vermin.”

“But you can go too!” Kaine announced. “Tonight, Liz and Nancy, you’ll be nobility, bibbidi bobbidi boo!” He turned to Nancy and Liz and shot two bolts of magic at them. One of them hit Liz, but the other missed Nancy and shot off into a dark corner of the lobby. It must have struck something-or someone, rather-as a startled screech was heard. Liz was enveloped in a sparkling cloud, and when the cloud dissipated there was a human woman standing in her place. The woman had blonde hair cropped short, sported a pair of glasses perched upon her nose, and was wearing a suit that reminded Cinderodham of the one she had sewn for Liz-entirely black except for the bright blue blazer. It didn’t take her and Nancy long to realize that it was Liz, but transformed. Liz held her hands out in front of herself, eyes wide in amazement over her new form.

“Oh my God!” She gasped. “I’m a human!”

“And Nancy should be too, but… oh gosh, who did I hit? This could be bad!” Kaine worried. Everyone looked towards the dark corner and watched as a figure began to emerge from the shadows. A well-dressed man shuffled out before them into the light, a man with hair as snowy white as Mike’s fur and those same sullen, sinister eyes. It became very clear that this was indeed Mike, accidentally transformed into a human man. Before anyone could stop him Mike swiped some money from the lobby desk, scampered out to the street, and hailed a taxi to take him to god knows where. They didn’t decide to chase after him; he wasn’t bothering them so they didn’t care what he got up to. With Mike out of the way, Kaine hastily concluded his song.

“Oh what a shame, I must work on my aim, bibbidi bobbidi boo!” Aiming his wand correctly this time he sent another bolt of magic Nancy’s way. Another shimmering cloud dissipated to reveal a second woman in Nancy’s place. She had shoulder length brown hair and was clad in a fanciful burnt orange suit. Nancy looked down at herself and smiled, pleased with the form Kaine had given her.

“Nice work, Kaine!” She commended him. “What about our masks, though? We’ll need some for the ball.”

“Check your pockets,” Kaine instructed them, “They’ll be in there. The limo is all yours, ladies! Have a great night!” Liz and Nancy reached into their pockets and each withdrew a mask, a blue one for Liz and an orange one for Nancy to match their suits. They put them on and rushed off to the limo, looking forward to the fun of mingling with the nobility. However, Cinderodham hesitated to follow them. There was still one last thing to take care of.

“Oh, well, thank you Kaine, but-“ She started to say, although Kaine cut her off.

“Now now, don’t try to thank me,” He insisted, “It was my pleasure! All I want in return for this is for you three to have a wonderful time!”

“I know,” Cinderodham replied, “But don’t you think my suit-"

“Yes, it’s lovely, absolutely lov-good gosh, Cinderodham!” Kaine gasped, finally remembering the ruined state of her attire, “You can’t go dressed like that! Now, let’s see what I can do about this…” Kaine went up to her and began measuring her with his wand. “Your size, and the color of your eyes, mhm… something stately, but stunning too! Just leave it to me what a suit this will be, bibbidi bobbidi boo!” With a wave of his wand Cinderodham became enveloped in a dazzling shimmer of sparkles, and her tattered pink ensemble transformed into a gorgeous silver blue pantsuit.

“Oh, it’s a beautiful suit!” She beamed, twirling about happily, “Did you ever see such a beautiful suit? And you gave me some gloves too! What a nice touch!” She held up her hand, admiring the shiny silver satin gloves she’d been given. She gazed down at her reflection in the freshly polished floor, seeing that a sparkling mask the same color as her suit stuck out from one of her pockets and a silver headband now held her hair back. Kaine smiled at her, absolutely overjoyed that she was satisfied with his handiwork.

“I’m glad that you like it! Now hurry off to the ball,” He urged her, “It’s going to start soon!” Cinderodham put her mask on and was about to join her friends in the limo, but she paused for a moment more and turned back to Kaine.

“Why don’t you come with us, Kaine?” She offered. “Surely you’d like to attend the ball too; the three of us would love your company. And who knows? Perhaps you could be crowned king!”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone would want me as their king!” Kaine chuckled bashfully, “A duke, perhaps, but certainly not a king.”

“I want you there as my friend,” Cinderodham told him, “Even if you aren’t interested in becoming king we’d be delighted by your company.”

“If you really will have me I’ll go with you,” Kaine agreed, “Just a moment, please. Let me throw something nice on.” He waved his wand, enveloping himself in a shimmer of magic, and when it dissipated he was wearing a fancy blue blazer and pink tie with his khakis. He used his wand to conjure up a mask for himself and then he and Cinderodham got into the limo to begin the journey to the ball.


End file.
